


August Thirteenth

by ValiantBarnes (Cimila)



Category: Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: M/M, POV Third Person Limited, Time Loop, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:21:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28189866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cimila/pseuds/ValiantBarnes
Summary: Discovering that this is not the first August thirteenth that he's lived through, that certainly was a head scratcher. Luckily Bertie has the stalwart presence of his man's man, Jeeves.
Relationships: Reginald Jeeves/Bertram "Bertie" Wooster
Comments: 20
Kudos: 146
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	August Thirteenth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [borevidal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/borevidal/gifts).



> Hello friend! I hope you enjoy this! I do so love these characters and am glad to be given the chance to write them!
> 
> Some trivia for you: I found the word 'simp' on a list of no longer used British slang from the 1910's and immediately sent a screenshot to just about every single group chat I'm in. 
> 
> This let me post without a summary for some godforsaken reason and I caught it at approx 1hr 49 minutes before this went live.

"I say, Jeeves," Bertie says, the moment he hears the kitchen door swing open, "this all feels frightfully familiar." 

Jeeves oils into the room as he usually does, nigh silently, Bertie's mid-morning tea service in hand. Where Bertie expects the usual _'indeed, sir'_ or a hum of acknowledgement or perhaps even the query of _'does it, sir?',_ there is nothing but silence. Bertie glances over the top of his paper and pauses - freezes might be the better word, but there's no one but the two of them to quibble over such things and so Bertie will stick with remembering this as a quick, unnoticeable pause, thank you - at the sight. 

Bertie, in a slow and regular manner, closes his paper in order to better appreciate the- ah, certainly not the view! That wouldn't be very _preux chevalier_ of him now, would it? Taking in the sight of his valet down to his shirt sleeves like a slavering dog finally in sight of water. No, no, Bertram Wilberforce Wooster would never do such a thing! And certainly not to an upstanding gent like Jeeves.

Bertie puts down the paper with it's almost frustratingly familiar news in order to appreciate the always impeccable tea service Jeeves delivers. That it's being delivered sans jacket, an incredibly rare sight outside of the kitchen, is neither here or there. Though it is curious. Very curious.

"I say, Jeeves," Bertie _'I says'_ once more, mouth feeling terribly parched, "you, ah, that is to say, are you feeling quite right this morning Jeeves?"

"Undoubtedly, sir." Jeeves replies promptly this time, fixing Bertie's tea with his usual precise movements. Bertie grabs the paper from his lap and snaps it open once more, staring fixedly at the type instead of the line of Jeeves' chest, eminently apparent with nothing more than vest and shirt. Why, if one wasn’t careful, they could find their eyes slip sliding about Jeeves’ entire form before they caught themselves. Certainly not the sort of mistake Bertie would make, you understand, but one must be prepared to warn the unaware.

Jeeves is, as Bertie has noted perhaps once or twice (or once or twice every day for the past years of Jeeves' presence in his life), truly a strapping man. Big and broad with an equally large brain to match. A face pleasant to look at and even more alluring when those fine lips turn up into a pleased smile. Strong hands that Bertie wants to-

"Your tea, Mr. Wooster," Jeeves thankfully interrupts a line of thought that is best thought whilst alone. Bertie takes the tea, chastising himself most fiercely. Bad enough to think it when sequestered away, Jeeves dismissed for the night, but to have such thoughts with Jeeves hovering next to him?

 _Bertie, old chap,_ he thinks to himself, _you truly are an awful plonker sometimes._

"What were you saying about familiarity, sir?" Jeeves asks, ankling about to fix one or two things in the room that Bertie would have said were already perfectly in place.

"Oh, it's the paper, Jeeves! Dashed familiar, that's all. It's very, oh what's the word? French. Day something."

"Déjà vu?" Jeeves offers and Bertie snaps the fingers of his free hand, smiling broadly.

"That's it exactly! Déjà vu, Jeeves, got a frightful case of it today. Why, I could almost swear I’ve read this paper before!”

"You have, sir." Bertie pauses, cup halfway to mouth, and blinks at Jeeves in rapid succession. Then he stares for a few moments, unblinking. Jeeves’ shoulders, as always, look even wider when freed from their usual regalia. If questioned, Bertie might be convinced to admit that it was not a sudden and voracious interest in the culinary arts which saw him loitering in the kitchen, some months back.

"Yesterday's paper Jeeves? Awfully rummy of you," Bertie chides, though he’s more concerned than put out. First the shirtsleeves, now the paper? Or… the paper might have been first, actually, it one wanted to get properly chronological about it. 

“That _is_ today’s paper, sir,” Jeeves says, the edges of his voice beginning to edge into snippy at the insinuation that he’s fallen down on the job. Bertie manfully refrains from asking his valet if he’s quite alright. 

“Of course, of course.” Bertie agrees, doing his best to sound certain despite his mounting suspicion that there’s something afoot. The newspaper itself declares today to be August Thirteenth which makes sense, considering yesterday was the twelfth. There’s that feeling of whatsit again; déjà vu making the old Wooster grey matter tingle most unpleasantly.

“Of course,” Bertie rustles the paper in front of him, folding and unfolding, turning it over in his hands. “Now, not to sound absolutely barmy, old chap, but-”

“Today is not the first August thirteenth which you have experienced this year, sir,” Jeeves interrupts, something usually saved for the most dire of situations.

“Aha, that’s… that is truly a remarkable jape, Jeeves,” Bertie says, voice lacking any mote of conviction. While it’s true that Jeeves has pulled the wool over his eyes a time or two, he’s always had a good reason for it. Fishing someone out of the soup or saving Bertie from the dreaded fate of getting hitched to a beazle. Something like this doesn’t quite run to the Jeevsian sense of humour; it’s much more to Bertie’s taste, honestly. 

Bertie knows the way quiet amusement carries itself in the other man’s face by now. The way it warms his eyes, even when the rest of his face stays impenetrable. There’s none of that visible now, his dark eyes solemn.

“If only it were, Mr. Wooster,” Jeeves replies, voice low, and Bertie throws back the rest of his tea, wishing desperately it had a little something extra in it.

“Jeeves,” Bertie says, sinking down into his plush chair and intending to ask for just that. Jeeves checks his pocketwatch, snapping it shut sharply.

“Just a moment, sir,” Jeeves replies and makes tracks over to the phone. Barely a second after he reaches it, the blasted thing starts to ring. Jeeves answers, refraining from his customary _‘Wooster residence.’_ Bertie rather thinks he’ll see a pig wing its way through his living room next.

“Yes Mr. Little,” he says after a moment, then, “I understand precisely Mr. Little. Mmhm.” Jeeves listens to whatever nonsense Bingo’s spouting on the phone and doesn’t even tilt his head to the side in thought before he answers,

“If I may make a suggestion -” what comes next is, to Bertie, a clearly rehearsed set of instructions. Clearly tinkered with to perfection, considering the small asides that sound like: _‘that’s Thistlewaite spelled w-a-i-t-_ **_e_ ** _not w-a-i-t or even w-h-i-t, perhaps you would benefit from writing that down, Mr. Little.’_

After a good few minutes, Jeeves sets the receiver back down into its cradle and trots immediately to the bar. Barely a moment later and Bertie finds that his teacup has been replaced with a b. and s. 

“This,” Bertie says after he’s thrown it back, “this takes the giddy biscuit, Jeeves, and I do not use such a phrase lightly!”

“Indeed, sir,” he says, hovering next to Bertie’s chair, hands tucked behind his back.

“This is the seventy second such August thirteenth I have experienced, sir.”

“Seventy second?!” Bertie repeats, aghast, shooting to his feet. “That’s over two months, Jeeves! I - I… don’t remember.”

“No, sir,” there’s something decidedly sad about the set of Jeeves’ eyes, “You remember every other week or so, in my experience. Each time as though it’s your first experience of the day repeating itself. Sir.”

“Dash it all Jeeves! In such circs, I think you can finally drop the ‘sir.’” Bertie says, perhaps slightly hopefully.

“Of course, sir,” Jeeves replies. 

“Have you thought that there might be something that you're supposed to do?” Bertie asks, a few hours later. After on and off back and forth between the two of them, where Bertie puts the old Wooster grey matter to use and Jeeves gallantly pretends as though Bertie probably hasn't said the exact same suggestions (maybe even in the exact same order) on previous August thirteenths. Full of feudal spirit, is Jeeves, letting his y.m. prattle on.

"I have considered just about everything, Mr. Wooster, and tried nearly all of it."

"So no great Arthurian quests then, Jeeves?"

"No, sir."

"What about wants, Jeeves? Do you..." Bertie trails off for a moment, eyes skirting around the room, avoiding looking at Jeeves directly. The statement itself is no issue, of course; Bertie’s always kept himself firmly on the right side of propriety when it comes to Jeeves. One slip and, well, next thing anyone knows Bertie’ll have said something unforgivable and Jeeves will leave forever. So Bertie’s words are perfectly safe but they feel dangerous anyway.

Asking Jeeves if he has some want hidden away, deep within himself, even though Bertie _knows_ the answer will never be what he wants.

"Do you have anything you especially want? Something that repeating this many days could give you? If it's not some mythological quest, maybe what you need is to look at other genres! Ghost stories or something, what?"

Bertie tinkers with some things on the shelves, nudging them out if place for Jeeves to realign later. He ankles about the room, back to Jeeves. The man has, amazingly, taken a seat on the lounge. Bertie may or may not have been pestering him about it since shortly after the revelation of the repeating day. For a moment Bertie had thought that his man wouldn’t even be moved by the argument of this being some sort of looping day and, therefore, no one will ever know about the breach of protocol. Bertie had been able to see the words ‘but _I_ will know, sir,’ on Jeeves’ lips before the man had - shockingly - acquiesced.

Jeeves had even shared lunch with him at the same table, a memory Bertie wishes he could say that he’d never forget. 

He wants to know what Jeeves wants. What Bertie wants is something he can’t have, so he’ll bally well do his best to give Jeeves whatever his heart desires. 

“What I… _want,_ sir?” Jeeves questions, voice uncharacteristically hesitant.

“Exactly so, Jeeves. Whatever it is that you wish, I shall endeavour to make it happen on this very day! By which I mean, of course, todays incarnation of August thirteenth. No expense spared!” Bertie shoots a quick but winning smile over his shoulder, turning back almost as soon as he’s glimpsed Jeeves’ face. There’s something about the set of it, some hard to describe alignment of his expression that has something in Bertie’s stomach turning over.

This happens semi-frequently, you understand. The quivering feeling, low in Bertie’s gut; the way Jeeves’ dark eyes can turn him to liquid.

He’s lost several cracking sartorial items to Jeeves’ looks! Not the look (not _this_ particular look) itself but how dashed malleable it makes him, sometimes. Of course he puts up the required fuss - they do have their roles to play, after all, and what sort of impression would it give if the y.m. rolled over whenever his man’s man raised an eyebrow? - but the moment Jeeves begins to look the slightest bit soupy, Bertie gives a hearty mental farewell to whichever item it is on the other end of such a look.

This particular look, which Bertie smartly only glimpsed before he averted his eyes, is possibly in that same broad category. Not exactly soupy, but… oh dash it all, Bertie can’t quite find the words. Jeeves would know but Bertie can’t exactly turn around as say, _‘I say, Jeeves old chap, what exactly is that look on your face? It almost looks like you’d like to open me up and see how I tick, haha!’_

“What I most want can’t be bought. Sir,” Jeeves intones, making the fine little hairs on the back of Bertie’s neck stick straight up.

“Well that _is_ a pickle. Surely something can be done! Unless we’ve tried this before, in which case I must admit that I’ve quite run out of ideas.” Bertie chances another glance at Jeeves. Jeeves stares back, something in his countenance giving him a distinctly shark like manner. If real sharks looked at their prey like that, Bertie’s surprised that the fish don’t simply walk into those razor sharp mouths.

Not that Jeeves is looking at Bertie like he’s prey, of course. Just an analogy, what. Jeeves certainly doesn’t… ah. Trick of the light, that’s all, just a trick of the light.

“This particular avenue remains unexplored. ...Sir,” Jeeves tacks on, almost as an afterthought. Bertie doesn’t look over, certain that it’s much safer to keep fiddling with the books. Jeeves has them arranged perfectly but perhaps they should try by colour? Rearranging them is certainly safer, even factoring in Jeeves’ wrath, than turning and possibly seeing that same expression on Jeeves’ face.

The problem with this being a repeating day that no one remembers is - Bertie’s been having ideas. Terrible ideas. Fantastic ideas. A brush of hands here. A quick kiss. A longer kiss. Throwing himself at Jeeves’ feet and showing him just what an Oxford education can teach you. Of course the problem is that Bertie won’t remember it but Jeeves will. And once he figures out a way to end this whole thingamummy, which he will, Jeeves will remember Bertie and his desperation and his wants and the way he’s been aching for Jeeves.

And then it’ll be toodle-oo to the best thing in Bertie’s life.

His mighty Wooster willpower wanes by the hour; faster when Jeeves watches him like that, though Bertie knows that he’s just misinterpreting the entire thing.

“Well I believe it’d be a bally well good place to start, don’t you Jeeves?” Bertie pulls a book from the line, debating whether it should go before or after the dark red leather binding. 

“Come, come, Jeeves! This is an amazing opportunity. Even if you muck it up today, there’s always tomorrow - or, today. More todays until you finally have what you want, since we can’t just pop off to the shops.”

“The idea has occurred to me. However, would you not think it… slightly disingenuous? To attain something so deeply desired in what could be considered an underhanded manner?”

“Pish-posh, Jeeves!” Bertie puts the book back where it was originally, turning around. Jeeves is where he left him, eyes still locked onto Bertie. “Pish-posh, I say. You’re, well, you’re the best man I know, Jeeves. If it’s something even _you_ can’t acquire by regular means, then clearly something’s gone wrong with the world. This August thirteenth malarky is clearly just the universes way or righting things, in this Woosters esteemed opinion.”

Bertie huffs a breath after this statement, quite sure that it was a perfectly regular compliment towards his employee whom he has perfectly regular feelings for. 

“If you’re certain, sir.” Jeeves says, standing. Bertie blinks, nodding. That’s just like Jeeves. Time won’t delay, so do it today and whatnot. Or, whatever version of that applies when time is quite keen on delaying, actually.

“Absolutely! Now, would you like me to accompany you, should I get my… hat… I say, Jeeves, you’re getting awfully close.”

Jeeves really is awfully close. Close enough that Bertie backs into the bookshelf behind him, close enough that Jeeves’ chest is brushing against his each time either one of them takes a breath.

“The thing I desire most in the world, Mr. Wooster,” Jeeves says, voice deep and rumbling and sending shivers through Bertie’s entire body, “is you.”

Now, if this were some sort of novel, Jeeves would swoop in and plant a kiss directly on his lips. Something mindblowing and passionate. If it were one of Bertie’s dreams, Jeeves’ hands would already be somewhere extremely inappropriate, rather than hovering by his sides. It’s neither - though Bertie does have the urge to pinch himself - and Jeeves does nothing to close the very slight gap between them.

“Is there a chance? Or should I try again tomorrow?”

“I think you should try again tomorrow Jeeves,” Bertie says, fingers twisting into the fabric of Jeeves’ vest when the man’s expression starts to shutter, “and every day. Forever. I’m, well, I’m bally well frightfully in love with you, old chap.”

Jeeves does lean down to kiss him, now, and Bertie melts, held perfectly between his man and the bookshelf.

Bertie wakes, sunlight piercing through curtains which weren't shut the previous night. He'd kept Jeeves much too busy to think of it and, honestly, neither of them had thought it necessary as everything would reset at midnight. It's much earlier than Bertie usually wakes - significantly earlier than he'd woken yesterday - but, for once, you'll hear no complaints from this Wooster!  
  
Jeeves is pressed up against his back, warm and delightful. His arm's like a steel bar around Bertie's chest, keeping him close. Sleepy as he is, he can still feel the moment Jeeves begins to wake. Fingers curl against the bare skin of his chest, nails scratching lightly against his skin in a most pleasurable sensation. Then Jeeves stiffens, frozen for a moment.  
  
"I'd rather say that did the trick, old chap," Bertie chirps happily, smiling when Jeeves relaxes, burying his head against Bertie's neck. He gives a lingering, chaste kiss to Bertie's neck and it is, truly, the best wake up he can ever remember having.  
  
"Indeed, sir," Jeeves rumbles, voice sleep rough. Bertie would like to hear it every morning for the rest of his life. "In pursuit of scientific accuracy, perhaps we should repeat the experiment?"  
  
Bertie agrees wholeheartedly.


End file.
